


Novum Iter

by ZoraSapphire



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-07-29
Updated: 2011-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-21 23:28:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/231060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoraSapphire/pseuds/ZoraSapphire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a time of war, there is no such thing as coincidence. (Post-Act III. Fenders.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scattered

**Author's Note:**

> What started as a bit of writing in a roleplay prose format, mostly through e-mails, has been polished up a bit and posted here. That being the case, for as long as the ideas keep coming, this will stay a perpetual work-in-progress, and we'll keep adding to it. This is just the first half -- the essential set-up -- of what we already have stored away.
> 
> This will contain both violence and sex in later chapters. If you shouldn't be reading that sort of content, leave now.
> 
> Dragon Age, Anders, and Fenris are all property of BioWare.

The news swept Thedas like a plague: The Champion of Kirkwall and The Hero of Ferelden were missing.

 

When the rumors reached Fenris, he was still living in a state of limbo, as much a wanted man as the rest of Hawke's companions were. Sticking to the shadows and the wilds were how he existed in between small, nameless villages. This was the sort of life he was used to prior to befriending Hawke; some part of him always knew his leaving the City of Chains would be inevitable, but if anyone told him about the circumstances...

 

No. He actually _would_ have believed that. _Mages_.

 

That Fenris agreed to aid them by association with Hawke still grated him; yes, the Templar woman was a complete lunatic, but the mages were too pathetic and weak to have any semblance of freedom, perfectly evidenced by the abomination's decision to force everyone's hand.

 

The choices were made. The lines were drawn. Many months later, he couldn't undo them.

 

Why he felt the need to pursue the traces of Hawke was hard to say -- duty? habit? surely not something as simple as a tentative friendship -- but for every lead he found, there was another dashed. An endless chase across Thedas eventually took him to Ferelden, the outskirts of a village in the Frostback Mountains, but even here information was scarce.

 

The villagers must have thought him an odd sight, he realized, but as he sat down in the unfamiliar tavern and scowled, Fenris found didn't care much for their hospitality in the first place. The less questions they asked, the better.

 

\--

  
The Champion of Kirkwall. The Hero of Ferelden. They had both been his friends at one time, and now they were both missing. Dropped off the face of Thedas, even.

 

Anders was to blame for the Champion's disappearance; as for the Hero, he hadn't even seen the Warden-Commander since Amaranthine. Hawke, however, was a different story. He'd known him since he had come asking for maps to the blighted Deep Roads, and up until recently had never left his side. Now he was on the run again, though he expected the amount of templars after him this time were considerably larger in number than during his escapes from the Circle.

 

His decision was long and thought out, and his intentions were always clear: Anders would do anything for his cause. He did what had to be done, and he was sure of it; but he hadn't intended for Hawke or his other companions to have gotten caught up in it like they did. Even after he lied to him, asked Hawke to distract the Grand Cleric, after he'd forced this all to happen... He'd spared his life. Anders fought alongside the Champion one last time, on the side of the mages, no less -- the very mages _he_ had condemned to the will of the Knight-Commander. And yet, Hawke continued to fight with him.

 

Perhaps this was why Anders felt the need to find him, to thank him -- no, to apologize -- not for what he'd done, but for all he'd put Hawke through. He owed the Champion that much.

 

Months of hiding, running and chasing after false rumors brought him to Ferelden once more, moving from place to place almost daily in an effort to not only keep up with his traces on Hawke, but prevent himself from being found as well. The Frostback Mountains were an ideal place to hide -- cold, desolate and secluded. He'd come across a small village, one that actually had a tavern with lodging, and stayed there for a night. The owner of the place didn't pay him any mind, except to receive what little payment Anders had to offer, and most of the villagers were no different. He was just another wanderer to them, passing through without incident.

 

But as inviting as it sounded, he couldn't stay. After he had gathered his things, Anders put his cloak on and made his way to the barkeep, steering clear of as many tavern-goers as he could.

 

\--

  
Hiding in plain side was a strategy worth little merit -- he stood out in more ways than one, to be certain -- but there simply was no use in elaborate disguises for Fenris, either. Best to keep on the move and ignore anyone who got too friendly, too personal, the very same set of rules that bought him freedom and revenge in years past.

 

No one was forthcoming in this village, typical of isolated regions and a fact that he appreciated. The folk tended to mind their business and expected visitors to do the same until their time came to leave. It was a perfect philosophy for Fenris, but it presented one glaring problem: it left him no closer to the whereabouts of Hawke. For all his listening, for all his searching the village after hours, for all his intimidating the local shady types, there remained nothing.

 

The Champion well and truly moved on from here, if he ever visited in the first place. It was time for Fenris to do the same, perhaps to check the next village along the route.

 

As he stood, his steps were quiet, purposeful, stopping near the barkeep and unceremoniously pressing a coin toward the man; if Fenris _cared_ that there was someone waiting before him, he didn't show it, departing just as whimsically as he walked up.

 

"Soddin' elf," grumbled the tavern's owner, shaking his head

 

\--

  
As he was about to pay his due to the barkeep, Anders was cut off rather suddenly by an unknown figure. He looked up, seeing his back as the man carelessly set down his money on the counter, barely making note of the comment made by the recipient. Bile rose in his throat as he took careful notice of the features of the elf -- even from behind he would recognize him anywhere.

 

The first thing that struck him was the silvery-white hair that fell just to the nape of his neck, falling barely over his pointed ears. Though his markings and clothing truly were the most unmistakable; the lyrium brands on his tan skin covered mostly by his brown, "spiky armor" --as Isabela so aptly named it. There was no doubt in his mind that this was who he thought it to be.

 

Maker, he hoped and _wished_ it wasn't.

 

Of all the people, of all the creatures and souls in Thedas he would run into in a place like this -- it had to be Fenris. What would he do if he realized Anders was there? He hated Anders, there was no guessing that. And he had wanted Hawke to kill him when he'd had the chance; what was there to say he wouldn't kill him now? Fenris helped Hawke against the templars, and that made him just as much a wanted fugitive as any of their companions. It was _his_ fault that Fenris was out here instead of living comfortably in his rotting mansion. He thought that to be reason enough aside from the obvious to want revenge.

 

Out of shock and with no real sense of what he was doing, Anders turned around, glancing around for a way to slip out of sight. In the process of doing so, he ran straight into the waitress making her rounds back to the counter. "Maker's breath, I'm sorry, serah. I wasn't looking where I was going-" He mumbled, looking over his shoulder nervously as he attempted to help her regain her balance.

 

\--

 

The tavern door was beneath his palm when he _heard_ that voice, everything in him going rigid. A thousand images assaulted him at once: a dank clinic in Darktown, endless whining about the oppression of mages during tiring trips throughout Kirkwall and its environs, the sky a vicious red and raining chunks of what was once a holy monument.

 

It was a reflex when Fenris turned around; at the same time that he wished to excuse it as a moment of delusion, something in him wouldn't allow for it, demanding an answer.

 

The one given wasn't a comfort in the least, his gaze a cruel and shuttered thing when he spotted the mage currently trying to assist the barmaid. _Laughable_ and disgusting. If only that woman knew, months earlier, that those same hands destroyed an entire establishment and the innocents within it without so much as a pause.

 

How did this fool still draw breath?

 

The elf was surging forward before thoughts could even form, equal parts impulsive and furious. "We talk. Now." The words held a dangerous promise, a threat to make a scene if he refused.

 

Retracing his steps, a hand reached out and pushed the tavern's door open with more force than necessary. Fenris left, waiting in the shadows beside the building.

 

\--

  
When he heard the footsteps pound against the wooden floor, he froze. It was too much to hope for that instead he would hear the relieving sound of the tavern door open and close, allowing him to quickly and quietly move on. No, he remembered the familiar muffled stomping of bare feet clearly.

 

The low growl that the elf gave in his words was menacing; he knew he was stuck now, no way to escape after Fenris had realized who he was. And there was no doubt he knew.

 

He stood there for a moment, still in disbelief; how in Thedas was he so unlucky that in all of his travels, of all the times to run into anyone in the middle of nowhere, it would be him -- and under these circumstances? He reached behind his back and underneath his cloak, feeling the smooth leather around the handle of his staff. He kept it concealed, even though he assumed most here would pass it off as a walking stick necessary for the terrain. He wasn't taking any chances, however.

 

He wrapped his cloak around himself tighter, walking toward the door slowly as his boots thudded against the floor. How in the holy name of Andraste was he going to explain this? That he just happened upon Fenris while looking for someone who likely doesn't want to see him again? Many questions ran through his mind, but the most pressing one was simply whether he should walk out into the open, unaware of the elf's intentions, or for that matter, location.

 

Anders pushed on the door, feeling the rush of cold air hit his face as he did so; it was a stark contrast outside from the darker interior of the tavern. He looked around, spotting Fenris lurking in the shade of the small building. "Fenris," he said with a bitter tone.

 

"It's been awhile."

 

\--

  
Back pressed to the wall, arms crossed and a bare foot propped against aging brick -- it was a stance, a veneer of calm that Fenris didn't feel, staring off into the unknown distance. He was listening for the muffled sounds of movement inside the tavern; if the abomination thought, even for a moment, he would escape, he would find out how wrong he was.

 

Just when his already limited patience threatened to fray into nothingness, there was the creak of the door. Footsteps and then a figure. The elf didn't have to look to know it was Anders, his surly gaze remaining firmly fixed elsewhere, ignoring him even while drawing him in with words.

 

"Why are you here, mage?" All the subtlety of a maul to the face. The shape of his jaw flexed and tightened, the one sign of how desperately restless this entire encounter made him.

 

Why he bothered to ask, Fenris didn't know. He hardly believed a word out of Anders' mouth in Kirkwall. Here? He had even less inclination not to eviscerate the abomination on principle alone.

 

\--

  
He remained standing a decent distance away, still prepared for any surprise -- Fenris' demeanor was misleading, his tone of voice alone defying his calm stance. Anders learned long ago that one couldn't judge Fenris' emotions simply by looking.

 

"I don't know that it's any of your business, _elf_." He snapped. "Though I could ask the same of you." His face was twisted into a look of frustration and impatience, his eyes fixated on Fenris as he spoke. What reason did he have to tell him at all why he was here? Aside from the fact that it would probably give him all the more reason to strike him down on the spot.

 

Anders and Fenris never got along, it was something he had come to accept years ago. They never once agreed on anything aside from blood magic being a despicable thing, when Merrill displayed her abilities on Sundermount. And even then, the subject brought up further arguements.

 

He clenched his fists, unaware of the fact that he was gritting his teeth together out of apprehension. He couldn't help it; his anger at the sight of the damned elf was nearly unbearable. "Kill me now if you wish, but the Champion... Hawke... will stay lost if you do. Not that you would care." He had no intention of letting Fenris touch him, either; it was difficult enough keeping his anger in check and preventing Justice from surfacing again.

 

\--

  
This was so familiar that it was nearly staggering; they might as well be back in The Free Marches on one wild goose chase or another, talking in endless circles about an age-old grudge that simply wouldn't change. The catch was that circumstances were different now -- and the person responsible for that stood a short distance away from him.

 

Stood there and _dared_ to question Fenris' intentions.

 

That alone was enough for the elf to draw himself to full height, pushing from the wall and turning toward Anders with slow, deliberate movements. The space between them might as well be a chasm for how much he minded it, never going any closer. For both their sake.

 

Hand raised and finger pointed, the curved tip of the gauntlet punctuating the tension in the air, Fenris' lips curled into a sneer. "If you'll recall, Hawke was reduced to this _life_ because of your pathetic fanaticism. I owe you nothing, least of all an explanation. Wherever he may be, he's truly better off if the alternative is your presence."

 

\--

  
His muscles tensed as Fenris turned toward him, resisting the urge to reach for his staff fastened to his back. He narrowed his eyes, glaring furiously at Fenris as he listened to the words coming out of his mouth. He wanted to wipe that disgusting sneer off his face.

 

He took one step forward impulsively, digging his heels into the ground to hold his position. "I know _full well_ that this is my doing. You think I don't realize the damage I've caused?" he growled, malevolence lacing his voice like venom. "I know the things I've done. I regret the deaths I caused. But I don't regret the things that _will_ come of it."

 

Anders felt the familiar sensation of a pit in his stomach, a pang of guilt sitting and rotting inside of him. He did regret the lives it had cost to achieve his goal. But it was a small price to pay for the freedom of _every_ mage. Every one that would have their freedom now, every one that would be born with it in the future. "I need to find Hawke for reasons you can't understand, regardless of his feelings toward me doing so."

 

He turned, glaring back at Fenris as he did. "You and I could _never_ understand each other."

 

\--

  
This was charged and dangerous, tense and vicious; it took only that single step from Anders for Fenris to react, the winding paths of lyrium flickering to life with vivid intensity. It was a silent warning: _I'll give you the traitor's death you deserve if you tread closer._

 

The moment passed with a painful slowness for Fenris, eyes sharp, scrutinizing, looking for the slightest provocation. He cared little for the abomination's purported regrets and sacrifices. The result would always be the same, the needless killing of many individuals for a cause that wasn't his to push. The choice should have been Hawke's; the work done in Kirkwall was under the Champion's guidance, and in a single moment, it was nullified by a mage harboring a tainted spirit.

 

Did the fool realize that he did no credit to his own cause? Fenris reveled in the irony.

 

"That demon deludes you more and more, it seems," was his disdainful reply, but his expression faltered, eyes narrowing. "There is nothing to understand, mage. He doesn't need help from _you_. He has those that didn't twist the knife."

 

\--

  
That familiar pattern traced along his skin, an omen of impending death to anyone who knew about the power the lyrium brands contained. Anders didn't dare take another step forward, prefering instead to turn and leave this elf behind; as far as he was concerned, Fenris was no more than a bitter memory that he'd rather forget.

 

He'd told himself more than once already that Justice was becoming harder to control. He didn't need to hear it from Fenris too. It was apparent throughout his years spent in Kirkwall that as time passed, he'd lost himself more and more to the spirit inside him. Anders remained with his back turned to the elf, _daring_ him to make any move. He would love a reason to set him ablaze and prevent another word from exiting his mouth.

 

"And who does Hawke have then apart from his lover? He's left his entire life, his friends, behind." his gaze met the ground, sad determination etched in his unshaven face. "I'm _going_ to find him, and you can't stop me from doing so."

 

\--

  
This was all so incredibly absurd. Anders, the reason behind this whole fiasco, thought he could actually _help_? Fenris' head shook at the sheer stupidity of it, the markings in his skin slowly dimming. One thing was clear: he couldn't allow the mage to pursue Hawke for fear that everything would be made worse than it already seemed to be.

 

When the elf moved, it was a quick dash of agile feet, willing to risk the fact that Anders might misinterpret the gesture -- it would present Fenris with a reason to retaliate -- but it was only to cut the other man's path off, arms crossed and his scowl as vicious as ever. His disapproval was more than clear.

 

"I already intend to find Hawke. Leave it alone." Better him than a mage, than _the_ mage responsible for an entire world in a state of chaos and war. "You played your hand. You have no say."

 

\--

  
The very moment he realized Fenris was coming toward him, his right hand moved almost instantly underneath his cloak to the handle of his staff, the left held out in front of him prepared to cast any manner of magic he possessed. He held a defensive position, his jaw clenched tight as Fenris moved in front of him, crossing his arms. What did he think he was doing? If he thought to get in his way, the elf was sadly mistaken.

 

Anders returned the scowl, his brows shadowing his already exhausted eyes. His fingers twitched, loosening their grip on the weapon still firmly attached to his back. Fenris had yet to make a hostile move -- aside from the piercing gaze -- but he wasn't about to let down his guard entirely.

 

" _You?_ " He nearly laughed. "What desire would Hawke have to see you either? He left us both behind, as I said before." He let his hands relax, pulling his collar further up against his neck as he stepped to the side, around Fenris. "I have as much say as you do if that's what you intend. Now if you'll kindly attend to your own business and leave me to mine, I have somewhere to be."

 

\--

 

As a rule, Fenris believed many things about Anders to be true. The mage was selfish, incompetent, and untrustworthy, with a sense of entitlement that seemed rivaled only by the magisters of Tevinter. Now added to that list was _terminal idiocy_ , rightfully earned the moment he thought that the pair of them were on equal footing.

Fenris wasn't the one to lie to Hawke, to carry on the guise of friendship, to use others as a stepping stone for some grand coupe. They were _nothing_ alike. In fact, the only thing they had in common was that they once called the same individual an acquaintance, perhaps a friend.

As quickly as Anders side-stepped him, Fenris was on his heels, footfalls silent against the rocky streets. "You know very well why Hawke made his choice." For safety. As an entire group, they were much too obvious. "You should know equally as well that your searching is useless; the damage was done by your hands. I won't allow you to make matters worse by leading a trail directly to him."

Was all reason gone from his thick skull? Did Anders not see that this was a foolish endeavor? This wasn't something to _let go_ , the elf wearing grudges and feuds like a shroud of armor. Fenris would stop this nonsense one way or another.

 

\--

 

His boots thudded against the ground as he walked, trying his best to ignore the fact that Fenris was now following him. As if he didn't have enough to worry about already.

 

Anders stopped dead in his tracks, biting back on his anger. In all honesty, he had no idea where he was going; every lead, every rumor and trail he followed only brought him to another dead end. Hawke left no trace of his whereabouts, and for good reason. He knew he likely wouldn't want to see him, speak to him or ever see him again; Anders had taken everything from him, betrayed his trust -- and yet, he still lived. He had to find Hawke, to set things straight with him; even if that required him giving up his life in return.

 

He turned around sharply, leaving only a couple feet between them. "You know _what_ , Fenris? You're right. I _do_ know why Hawke made this choice. What I _don't_ know is why I am still living and able to be here looking for him. But I intend to find out." Anders looked him in the eye, his glare as cold as the air around them. He didn't want him here. Seeing him only brought back memories of the past, of Kirkwall; seeing him brought back feelings he wanted to forget.

 

"I'm not looking for your permission, nor am I going to sit idly by while you pursue him yourself." He hissed, pointing his finger in Fenris' face. "You can either leave me the _hell_ alone, or you can help. But I won't stop until I find him."

 

\--

 

The finger in his face was the breaking point for the bitter tension, a snarl ripping from his throat.

Too close. The mage was _too close_.

It was a realization that screamed at him, sent fury streaming straight through his veins and outward, the brands etched into his flesh suddenly bright. Above all else, Fenris valued his space; while he might encroach on someone else to prove a point, it was rarely ever done in turn. This _abomination_ , already to blame for so much, wouldn't be the first to get away with it.

Without warning, the sharp gauntlets were making an attempt to curl in Anders' coat, every inch of height he didn't have on the human made up by the malice in his expression, the angry set of his mouth and the knot between his eyebrows. "You will not put your _hands_ near me, mage."

They were derailed from the true issue at hand, and Fenris _didn't care_. His anger would have its answers.

 

\--

 

He had done it out of impulse; not once beforehand did he think about what would happen if he blatantly invaded Fenris' space.

 

Anders was caught off guard as the elf grabbed him violently by the coat, the lyrium that marred his skin glowing threateningly. He reached up and grabbed Fenris by the wrist that held his clothing, attempting to pry his sharp fingers away from his body. He gasped through his teeth, jaw clenched and brows furrowed into a furious expression. " _Do it_." He snarled. "Show your true self, Fenris, rip my heart out where I stand. We both know you want to, so _do it_!" He growled, his voice breaking any silence in the surrounding area.

 

His anger enveloped him like a shroud, feeling his free hand pulse with magic as he stared down at Fenris, the resentment clear in his eyes.


	2. Ensnared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second part to our RP, warning for violence and blood/death etc.

_He asks for death. I say give him what he wants._

It seemed an entirely different lifetime in which Fenris told Hawke just that, and here the elf stood, the decision possibly his own in earnest. For every terrible thing Anders did to the citizens of Kirkwall, for every mage who made Fenris' life miserable, this could be the moment of reckoning, the end to a long and bitter battle of wills and ideologies.

When one hand came loose at Anders' insistence, the other remained, its grip tightening until, with a surge of strength, he was shoving the mage into the wall of a nearby building. His chest heaved with effort, with restraint, with  _rage_  that was only intensified by the arrogant goading.

He was no  _coward_. Through the veil of his pale hair, Fenris' gaze sought out Anders' and met it with a steely resolve. His free arm coiled like a snake poised to strike even as the other held fast to the fabric. There was silence, save for his ragged breaths, the sound of his heart thrumming in his own ears.

His fingers flexed, grasped for more, and then let go completely. Lanky strides were taking him as far away from Anders as possible, stalking more than walking. "You have no idea of my true self, mage. Let's go."

\--

Anders grunted as his back slammed against the wall, wincing and gasping as Fenris held him there with force. His pulse sped up considerably, feeling his heart pounding furiously against his chest; because of his stupidity, he realized, it may not be there much longer.

 

He stared at Fenris through the strands of loose hair that hung in his face, his eyes filled with contempt as he stood there, panting.  He felt the grip on the fabric of his clothes tighten, saw the claws of his gauntlet curving, bracing himself for the impact -- and it was done as quickly as it had begun. “ _He let me go?_ ”

 

It didn't make any sense; Fenris  _wanted_  him dead, he'd never made that a secret, and had wanted it all those months ago -- why not do it while he had the chance, a perfect opportunity? It surprised him more than being shoved into the blighted building.

 

His breath hitched, still standing against the wall as Fenris turned and stalked away; the disbelief hit him even harder when he told him to follow. "Are you  _kidding_  me?" He nearly choked. "I never know what to expect from you. First you almost  _kill_  me, and now you take me up on the suggestion to work together?" Anders stepped forward hesitantly, increasing his pace in order to catch up to the elf, making sure not to get too close. "Then what exactly is your plan, to just prance from town to town, hoping to...to..." His words trailed off. He hadn't done much differently, having had no real lead on Hawke for weeks; he’d found this place out of sheer luck. 

 

All he could do was follow behind Fenris, silently and carefully watching his strides. If there was any reason for his mercy, he knew it wasn't likely to come up in idle conversation.

  
\--

The lyrium beneath his skin had yet to lose its glow, and the mage's incessant questions rubbed his already frayed patience raw. The more he asked, the faster Fenris walked, his silently fuming way of telling Anders to  _shut up_  and enjoy the fact that his life was spared. The reasons weren't important.

Passing by buildings and merchants, by fences and flocks of small birds feeding, Fenris led them to the pathway out of the village without breaking his brutal pace. If he exhausted Anders, then he would be too winded to speak. That could only be best for both of them.

The easier option would have been to slay him on the spot, to silence his foolish notions and cut short his hopes of seeing the end of his pathetic revolution. That Fenris _didn't_  do it was the mark of what he learned from Hawke -- that a wise warrior occasionally knew when to stay his hand.

He let his sister go, though he loathed her; he let Anders go now, though he loathed him.

At his sides, his fingers flexed on instinct, temper still red-hot beneath the surface of his thoughts. Despite that, he finally decided to give the mage some semblance of attention.

"That is  _precisely_  what we will do. We will cover every inch of this blighted land until we find Hawke." A harsh sigh breathed past his lips, eyes darting to the side of the road as they walked. On guard. "I'm well aware your own plans are lacking. Don't waste my time by denying it."

\--

Keeping up with Fenris was difficult; it seemed that the faster he walked, the further the distance stretched between them.

 

He kept his eyes out for anything suspicious, glancing every now and again in various directions. There really was nothing of concern out there; the biggest threat to him at the moment was walking directly ahead. He remembered all of the times he, Fenris and Hawke had gone on jobs together, all of the times he had to tag behind and watch from a distance as the fighting took place. He did his share of battle as well; but his priority was always healing.

 

Even with Justice, Anders retained his ability to heal people as he always had -- one he shared with anyone who needed it, most of all his companions. He remembered with perfect clarity the tone Fenris took with him each time he had offered his magic to the elf; it wasn't far off from the one he was getting now. Fenris hadn't changed. His steps, his demeanor, even the brooding scowl was the same.

 

The only difference now was that he'd spared his life, even as it lay in his hands. And the idea of it clawed at Anders' mind relentlessly.

 

Anders' train of thought derailed when he heard Fenris' voice, averting his gaze from the elf to keep watch on the ground in front of him. "So then you mean to tell me that _you and I_ are going to travel all across Ferelden, with no leads whatsoever? It was hard enough by myself." He let out a long, exhausted sigh; partially from having walked so fast to keep up, but mostly from defeat. Anders didn't have much choice, either. If he tried to leave now then his death would be certain; that much he  _was_ sure of.

 

He unconsciously brushed the hair from his face, focusing his attention on Fenris once more. "I'm not going to deny my lack of plans, elf. I'm merely questioning whether this is the best one, seeing as it hasn't helped either of us much in the past."

  
\--

As they walked, as he had time to distract himself with the idea of things that didn't revolve around the idiot several paces behind him, Fenris began to feel less volatile. The heat beneath his skin didn't feel stifling anymore -- a strange thing when it was actually quite cold here -- and the markings finally flickered out, his strides gradually becoming less aggressive.

That didn't mean Anders suddenly stopped being  _irritating_. More questions and doubts even after they established that there truly was no choice but to look for themselves. It was enough for the elf to halt in his tracks, turning on a bare foot to fix the mage with a scowl.

"You have  _no plans_ , but you question if this is the best one?" Fenris pointed out, a dark eyebrow raising at him. "In the absence of anything else, which you have just admitted is the case, this is the  _only_  course of action. If it offends your delicate  _mage sensibilities_ , leave."

Walking again, he was muttering to himself, glaring with renewed vigor at the surrounding trees. " _Tua adiuvabunt ploras nihil._ "

\--

Anders slowed, halting his quickened pace as Fenris turned on his heel to snap at him; he had no response except to glare and mumble under his breath as he followed Fenris along the path. He was getting nowhere with asking questions.

 

He'd never been to this part of Ferelden before; then again, he hadn't been much of anywhere having grown up in the circle. The air was thin and cold, unlike the warm, humid climate of Kirkwall -- not to mention much less green.

 

The silence was comforting, helping to ease his shot nerves; Anders hadn't slept in at least three days, his most comfortable night having been his stay at the tavern in the village that lay far behind them. Even then though, he couldn't rest. Nightmares of darkspawn still plagued him at times, along with Justice, whose thoughts constantly haunted his mind. His patience was at his limits as a result, and not having had a chance to ask the barkeep where the next village actually _was_  wasn't helping at all.

 

"Do you know where we're going?" The question was forced, not having wanted to ask anything else; But he wasn't going to just blindly follow Fenris into the mountains. He shivered slightly as a small gust of wind trailed down his neck, wondering just how far off another civilized place would be somewhere like this.

  
\--

The wind rustling leaves, the sound of their footfalls -- they were the only noises for a time. It didn't make the situation better, but it did help Fenris to feel less like he was about to turn around and change his mind about letting Anders live.

How much ground they traveled, he didn't know, and he was even less certain about how long the journey to the next village would take. It  _was_  in this direction, however, and if they kept a good pace, they might have enough daylight to reach it within the day.

Of course, a day's worth of silence was too much to ask for, as Fenris soon discovered. The mage was asking yet more questions, leaving him to toy with the notion of not answering him  _at all_. Only the suspicion that Anders would keep talking prompted some sort of response.

"Yes," was his simple answer, clipped and drawled. All he needed to know and all he would receive, and even if he were inclined to say more, his attention suddenly focused on something up ahead. When Fenris stopped short once more, it had nothing to do with his traveling companion.

One of his hands raised, signaling for Anders to pause as well; there was movement in the underbrush, in the trees. Fenris spent long enough protecting a damnable man with many enemies to recognize an ambush when he saw one.

Highwaymen.

His voice was a low hiss. "Bandits up ahead. Ready yourself, but do not let them know they've been spotted."

His steps slowly resumed, gaze fixed on the road until the thieves had them in their sights. The attack launched at the same time that Fenris' blade came loose from its sheathe; he was a rushing blur of furious lyrium, scything through the front row of invaders in a sweeping slash.

\--

The short answer was all Anders needed; just a simple confirmation that they weren't wandering aimlessly. He continued on, silent once more as he set his gaze to the ground in front of him.

 

The rhythm of Fenris' feet and his own boots were the only sounds that entered his ears as they pressed forward -- but when the former was suddenly cut off, his eyes darted upward to discover the cause. "Fenris, what  _now_ -" He began, interrupted mid-sentence by a hand held up to still him.

 

He listened intently, looking around for any sign of danger. He heard it; the rustling of leaves, the crack of a twig underfoot -- was all it took before Anders had his hand firmly around his staff once more. He took heed of Fenris' warning, taking careful and deliberate steps forward in an effort to stay quiet. He drew his weapon upon seeing the large group of bandits, positioning himself in a defensive stance as he shrugged his cloak off of his shoulders, discarding it to allow better movement.

 

The moment he saw the snarl on Fenris' face as he charged forward, brands flaring up as he drew his blade -- Anders honed in on his own small group, digging his heels into the ground and unleashing a wave of jagged ice in their path. He followed up with a bolt of electricity to a man who rushed at him with daggers in hand; hitting him directly in the face as he screamed and toppled to the ground. He spun around, looking for Fenris in the chaos; spotting him mid-slash into the line of highwaymen in his path.

 

His eyes darted around, looking for any hiding in the brush, catching sight of one instantly before the bastard rushed, attempting to drive his blade into the elf's back. Anders shouted Fenris' name as he sent another burst of freezing energy at the man, hitting him in the right shoulder and sending him reeling backward with a large mass of ice attached.

 

What in the  _Maker's name_  were highwaymen doing in the middle of the Frostback mountains? They just had to appear everywhere; the blighted idiots would take any opportunity they got to ruin  _someone's_  day.

  
\--

The men were everywhere, seeming to appear from thin air itself. For every one that Fenris rushed or knocked out of the way, there was another flanking or appearing behind him -- and he let them, let them believe he would be overwhelmed, and when they drew in that little bit closer, he heaved the blade in a complete arc. Flesh and sinew shredded as easily as paper, bathing Fenris in the carnage.

Those that bothered to use their head evaded the brunt of the attack, dropping their focus to Anders, advancing on the mage in a unified wave.

The moment slowed, each breath loud, each strike vicious; for Fenris, it was instinct more than conscious choice, head whipping in the direction of the stragglers and _snarling_  at their backs -- little better than a blur when he launched after them, a streak of light on the battlefield, a ghost in the fog. When he reached them and his blade was not enough, far too close to the mage for such a large weapon, he dropped it and grasped at the bandits, long fingers wrapping around the base of one's head and chin and twisting. __

 _Snap_.  _Crunch._

Between Fenris and Anders, only one remained then. When the elf turned on him, the thug was little more than a groveling thing, on his knees and begging.

"We didn't mean-- We just--"

"I have never heard of accidental attempts at murder," was Fenris' cold response, sealed with a closed fist to the man's jaw. It sent the poor sod splaying onto the ground, and seconds later, the elf's foot was pressed to his chest, pinning him as he leaned downward. "A coward, running from me to chase after another."

"N-No! He's an apostat--"

"He is none of your concern."

\--

The sickening sound of tearing flesh filled the air as Fenris' blade ripped through an entire wave of men at once, sending bits of tissue and blood flying everywhere. Anders twirled his staff, bringing it around behind him in a singular fluid motion to slam into the ground at his feet -- sending an eruption of razor-sharp shards of ice from the ground into the body of a man standing a few feet in front of him. He stayed there, impaled on the mage's attack, choking on his own blood as Anders was slowly surrounded by the bandits who had abandoned their assault on Fenris.

 

He backed up slowly, nearly stumbling over his own feet as he glared viciously at the men flanking him. He couldn't take them out all ot once; he could feel his mana nearly drained already, and if he decided to take one out, he knew there was a good chance the other would have killed him before he had the opportunity to retaliate. 

 

 _"Shit."_  was all he could force through his gritted teeth.

 

Before he could make a move however, he saw a blur of white hair and light, heard the clatter of a heavy sword hitting the ground -- and before it could even register, one of the bandits lay dead in front of him, leaving a blood-covered Fenris in his wake. The elf turned for the other, an audible crack as his gauntlet collided with the man's face.

 

Anders stood in disbelief, watching as Fenris pinned the thug to the ground; he felt truly unable to say or do anything. First he'd spared his life, a miracle in itself -- and now turned around and saved it as well? He had no idea what was going on, whether Fenris was going _crazy_  or if it was just instinct; either way, it didn't change the fact that he was standing here, defending him from a highwayman who was no longer a threat on his own.

 

"Fenris, wait-" He struggled through ragged breaths, stepping toward them as sweat ran down his forehead into his already disheveled hair.

  
\--

"And why not? He would do the same to us." The words were quick and malicious, his eyes never leaving the man beneath his foot.

Staring, all Fenris could see mirrored back at himself was fear, perhaps deserved. The elf was a grizzly, morbid sight, blood splattered across his face and armor, weighing down patches of his pale hair. Through all the grime, the illumination of the lyrium markings remained bright and true, making him every inch of the reaper here to collect on a life owed to him.

"He has done the same to  _others_. I don't need to ask if we were his first victims." His foot inched further and further up until it was pressing into the highwayman's throat. Fenris brought himself to a stand and applied pressure.

He could hardly be described as a bleeding heart, uninterested in any sort of justice outside of what directly suited his own grudges, but the call of battle still pounded in his veins. Defend. Protect. Leave nothing to be a threat unless you wish to regret it.

That it occurred over Anders was the true irony. Fenris didn't have a reason why, only that the mage was  _his_  to hate, his to eliminate, and was under his watch until then. No petty thief would change that.

\--

  
He panted, listening carefully to Fenris' words. He was right; this man had probably killed innocent people before them, taken their belongings and left without regret. The voice of vengeance echoed inside his head, mingled in his own thoughts.

 

 _Make him pay for what he’s done. Let the elf kill him._

 

The feelings were his own and the spirit's all at once, the desire to see him brought to justice for his crimes -- even if some part of Anders felt pity for the man whose neck was inches from being obliterated. It wasn't his choice to make; his life was in Fenris' hands, and the mage was in no position to take it from him.

 

"It’s your decision, then." He said coldly, gazing down at the man with malice in his eyes.

 

He turned his head away from them both, taking a step in the opposite direction -- hissing and gasping in pain as he felt a warm liquid trickle down his side. He put his hand to it reflexively, wincing as he removed it from his soaked coat and saw his now blood-coated palm.  _Somewhere_  along the line, he had made a mistake. He tried to summon enough energy to heal the wound, but the fight had left him all but completely drained of his mana. Anders cringed and bit back the pain, trying to compose himself as he began to sway dizzily where he stood.

 

\--

The coward deserved no remorse. Those like him, who made a habit out of preying off travelers, didn't change their ways simply because they found themselves bested in a fight. Why Fenris paused at all rather than ending it was the real question -- perhaps waiting on something, anything from Anders, who was the target of the highwayman's attacks all along.

The judgment was passed to Fenris in the end, expression shadowed by his simmering fury. It was more than clear what choice he would pick, the human beneath his foot already turning several different colors from lack of air.

That was when he saw it, the mage staggering on the spot and inspecting himself. Was he wounded in battle? When?  _How_?

A moment's distraction was all it took. The world tipped and blurred as something forcefully collided against the side of Fenris' temple, the bandit sending him off kilter and wrestling him on the ground. "Soddin' knife ear, I'll finish what I started with your lover boy."

The arrogance of common criminals was occasionally astounding. This poor fool's gravest mistake was that he thought Fenris to be weaponless, defenseless. It was worth feeling the bone crush and crack beneath his fingers, the heartbeat fluttering in his palm like a frantic, caged bird -- worth watching the light in the fool's eyes dim as he crushed the precious organ like an overripe fruit.

Not seconds later, Fenris pushed the corpse off of himself and stood, wandering toward Anders with all the uncertainty of a wild animal sizing up a person, circling the mage in a cautious arc. This was unprecedented between them; there was always someone else to deal with things such as  _wounds_  and  _comfort_ , the finesse of personal interactions that eluded Fenris completely.

The best he could offer was an awkward, grudgingly ventured question: "Are you wounded badly?"


End file.
